Of Barbie Boys and Gargantuan Pricks
by deeo
Summary: Basically, the story in which Ralph regrets his entire existence in more than one thousand ways, after being tricked by Jack Merridew into a bet that's going to ruin his whole life. On short, the cliché, classic hook-up.
Alright, it's not like he's ever eager to accept Merridew's bets and it's not like he ever has to keep his word regarding those bets, because Merridew is a deceitful son of a cunt, and he doesn't deserve respect or recognition or held promises. But he's Ralph. He's always been characterized by this ridiculous stubbornness, this stubbornness to prove he's always better than people like Merridew, and if he's better than people like him, then he has to keep his promises. Because not keeping them is something Merridew would do. And not keeping them would mean going down to Merridew's level. And not accepting Merridew's bet in the first place would lower him in the eyes of his peers and his classmates and, most importantly, his friends.

Piggy and Simon always desperately told him not to go down that route, because once you do it, there's no way back. You always got to repeat the routine, the routine of facing the evil bastard's wicked plans and going along with them, because then he would trash you in front of the entire school population. And Ralph's pride is too big, just like his strong sense of morality and justice.

He always knew this difficult side of his character would drag him into deep shit one day, to put it more eloquently.

So the bet itself isn't anything special. They're at a party thrown by a random second-year kid whose parents are gone for the first time in ever. The kid has decided to get himself busted and the party idea ensues. No one cares of course. It's the kid's business. And by no one, Ralph naturally excludes Simon who is always everyone's martyr and decides to get into trouble for every dumbarse's sake. Ralph most of the time pities Simon, because this characteristic of him is supposed to be a virtue, but instead proves itself to be a major flaw in most real life situations. But then he discovers he has to pity himself even more than he pities Simon, because his supposed virtues prove themselves to be even bigger flaws. Courageous and just? Pfft. As if.

Merridew is three quarters drunk when he jumps onto the oak table, right in the middle of the living room, above the entire mass of plastered students. Ralph has the vision for a moment that the table will crack under the bugger's weight, because he's like fucking gigantic, and if the room didn't have the height of a grand chateau, due to the party-host's more than favorable financial situation, then Merridew would have a cracked head by now; Ralph desperately prays and yells and cheers inside his head for the table to split at least, but fate isn't on his side. When has it ever been?

Ralph isn't too sober himself, but he's still pretty lucid when Merridew starts buggering about a money-based game, Monopoly or whatever in the hell, Poker maybe? And the most banal chance game takes place after, and Ralph doesn't even know how in the bloody hell he's been persuaded into it; he just knows Merridew has simply pointed at him from the top of that steady table-damn that table-and he just accepts it because he is like half-bored, half-dazed, half-whatever, and he vaguely perceives Merridew's blokes around him; that tall, dark guy who always thinks he's funny and has a name like he's just been pulled out of the French history books, 'Mauritius' or something, and then there's that short creep who always dresses like he's going to funerals of people he's murdered himself. The rest is vague, but mostly he perceives Merridew who grins like a Cheshire cat at him, his icy-blue eyes in a haze, but still appearing as if they repeatedly stab Ralph in the face with the power of twenty stalactites.

And due to his great, great luck, just as usual of course, Ralph has to lose the game. He seriously thinks about not respecting the bet at first. After all, it's just Merridew and he's never taken Merridew seriously. But Ralph is even more drunk than he was in the beginning, and his sense of justice resurfaces again when he least expects it. He has to accept it, because in his brain at the time, he's too great and mighty not to accept it. He's way better than Merridew, way above him. Merridew would do something like not accepting it, not Ralph. No, sir.

So he's just got to accept it. The punishment is though something even nastier than the prospect of him agreeing to Merridew's bet.

„A dress." Ralph blinks a couple of times and shakes his head, looking around in a dramatic display of confusion, before he settles his gaze on the grinning bastard once again.

"What." It's definitely not a question, but more of a shock-induced word. He looks in front of him but doesn't see. Vivid, nightmarish pictures run before his eyes, him, Ralph, in a bloody dress just because Merridew's proposed it in the first place. Because Merridew _wants_ that.

"I'm not going to wear a bloody dress, you sod, find something else as punishment," He is truly surprised at how steady his voice is, when compared to the fog that clouds his mind at the moment. Merridew tuts, before giving a short half-chuckle-half-snort, then staggers and almost falls into Ralph, and Ralph has to back away good feet in order to keep a reasonable distance from the filthy swine. He doesn't look like a swine, but his disgusting behavior classifies him as one hundred percent into the 'Suidae' family of even-toed ungulates.

Physically, he's more like an enormous devil who took a humanoid form, but forgot how to completely transform, because honestly, Merridew's angular features and general characteristics often remind Ralph of the big arse villain at the end of every horror flick that makes Piggy shit his pants. Probably that's why Piggy is so afraid of Merridew. His eyes though appear more as if they've been cursed with the 'blessings' of the frozen circle of hell, so it's a combination, in all truth. Still massively evil-looking in the end.

Anyways, they fight the rest of the party about the bet, and most people end up leaving them sooner or later. He doesn't know when the party ends, but he wakes up around three o'clock in the morning, splayed on the floor near the stairs, with an unconscious Merridew draped over him and drooling on his face, and Ralph feels like he weighs a ton. He makes a few unsuccessful attempts of decently removing himself from under Merridew, before finally deciding to punch into the side of his head, in order to properly wake him up, so that he could set Ralph free from the inferno.

Merridew returns to life with an angry-looking, murderous stare and Ralph's genuinely scared for a second that he's going to beat the crap out of him. The ginger grins though when he catches sight of him and reminds Ralph for the umpteenth time about the godforsaken bet, something that Ralph's critically, acutely hoped for him to forget, given how smashed he's been when the whole bet discussion interfered. But no. He has to remember it, because he's too obsessed with his planet-sized ego. And that's that.

He has to wear a dress for the upcoming ball held in the school. He's literally doomed.

He isn't that stressed out because there is a while until the ball comes. But Merridew makes sure to bring him onto that path soon enough, so he finds himself almost hiding in the bathroom one time, due to Merridew constantly pestering him. _'_ I bet you'll look marvelous in that pretty dress, golden boy!' His mockeries and obnoxious laughter echo down the halls and Ralph wants to go on a rampage, jump on Merridew and pull at the wild mop of red hair at the top of his head, scratch at his face, dig his nails into his skin like a wild animal, which is shockingly unusual for him, because he's calm and collected most of the time. Well, when Merridew isn't provoking him.

He doesn't know how he ends up hiding in one of the stalls, because Ralph never hides. Ever. He always faces his problems, confronts them with all the courage he's capable of, and it seems that this situation drains him out of all the nerve. It's one thing to fight Merridew when Ralph is in power himself, it's another when he knows he can't do anything about it. Because if he gives up, it will be even more humiliating for him.

So he bears through it, a few weeks, until the day approaches.

There are like a couple of days until the actual, unfortunate-for Ralph-event, and suddenly the door at the front rings and of course he's the one who goes to greet whatever pedestrian's decided to pass by. It isn't a pedestrian, it's just Merridew who acts as if being there, in front of Ralph's door, is the most normal thing in the world. They exchange the usual greetings which consist of yells and swearing, then delve into a very much pleasant dialogue composed of bickering and more swearing, reaching the edge of actual violence.

It turns out Merridew is just leaving him this big, transparent plastic bag which contains a nice, pretty Lolita dress, baby-blue-colored, lacy trimming, white girl knickers, white thigh highs with fucking suspenders of the same shade of blue, and Ralph feels like his skull is cracking into several pieces from embarrassment, anger, some strange, misplaced elation and dread, all rolled up into one heavy package. More swearing follows and Merridew is gloating and looking like he's just won seven prizes from seven different categories of musical competitions.

All along, Ralph's expected for the ball to sort of cancel itself; maybe an incident would occur, the school's festivity hall would be perhaps 'accidentally' set on fire, or maybe through God's will, the ball would be stopped because of the new plague spreading across the entire Great Britain.

A whole map of ridiculous, highly improbable and even impossible scenarios rolls through his head like dice on the backgammon board, and his brain tissue is sending sparks and smoke through his ears. He at least wants to choose the dress for himself, because in this case, he will of course choose the longest cloth, least likely to resemble an actual dress, but no, it's not a possibility, because Merridew has to intervene as always. Cracks his knuckles and magically finds the worst solution for Ralph, but the best solution for him. They're like polar opposites in their purposes and life views, and they want what's goddamn worst for each other, so of course Merridew's had to bring up the skimpiest garments he could find.

Merridew hangs around for a while and they both sort of, absurdly forget for like three hours how they hate each other's guts with the burning of a thousand suns, and basically find themselves in front of a board of chess. A game which Ralph almost wins, before Merridew's queen eats his last pawns and his most important rook, snatching the victory from under his nose, just like he does in most of their life confrontations.

Ralph is not a bad winner or loser, he's just a little bit gutted, because it's Merridew. If it was any other person, it wouldn't matter as much. Piggy beats him at chess almost all the time and Ralph never cares in the least. It's just he's never guessed Merridew was actually that good at such an intellectual game, given that Merridew doesn't even seem to be the cerebral type. Now that Ralph thinks better, the wanker does have some pretty well-woven schemes that he manages to trap Ralph into, on a lot of occasions, including this one. He's an absolute manipulator of the human mind and this doesn't involve just Ralph, from what he's observed from Merridew's current interactions with other misled souls.

It suddenly falls on Ralph that Merridew is in all truth an ace when it comes to scheming and deceiving, and he actually imagines him as this great pimp of the underworld for a fraction of second. Dressed all in black, black suit and tie, with some sort of fancy fedora hat, Godfather-style, and his stomach kind of weirdly flips, but he also cracks a smile at the same time. He realizes he must be looking like a wacko, smiling at Merridew, but not actually seeing him; just the image of a future, evil mastermind Merridew, which is, in Ralph's mind, somewhat brilliant. Not that he would ever admit it, unless he's having a gun pointed at his head, and not even then. There's like a funny, weird fear that suddenly stabs at him, because he actually starts believing Merridew will soon be capable of doing that to him.

When his view clears out, he sees Merridew pointedly gazing at him, one fiery eyebrow raised, his mouth quirked in a half-grin, and blood unusually floods Ralph's face, because the silence is weird and Merridew staring at him in that way is even weirder. Though nothing tops the comment that follows from Merridew's side.

„Ya know, I'd make another bet on how that dress actually looks better on you than on most lasses."

This ends up with Merridew being kicked out of his house as soon as the words leave that blasted mouth. Honestly, Ralph doesn't even know how the hell they've even managed to get along for three hours, and how they've fallen into this silent agreement to spend some time together at Ralph's house, given that they never interact in any other way, except when they rival against each other in their daily clashes. Those hours spent in private with Merridew have been more than unnatural and not to Ralph's liking at all, so he just tells himself it's the adrenaline pumping before the bet.

He tries the dress exactly a few hours before the event and already wants to rip it apart, but strains himself from doing it, because then it'll be worse for him. Merridew might come up with an even wackier idea, so he just tortures himself as he slowly introduces his feet into the one-piece, one by one, leaps a few times because the dress' bodice is a bit tight around his arse, then pulls the corset or whatever the heck it is around his torso, and he is almost in awe for a really quick moment when he realizes that the outfit fits him like a glove. Which is scandalous, first, because Ralph has desperately wanted it not to fit, and second, because how in the bloody, goddamn, almighty Christ does Merridew know his proportions.

He doesn't have much time to think about it. He quickly covers himself with his favorite overcoat, arrives at the party like half an hour late–on purpose, of course- hoping it won't aggravate his punishment. He has the small, vague hope that Merridew has gotten sick and couldn't arrive, but he's there as always and yells out loudly for everyone to hear, how Ralph has to take off his coat in order for the bet to be valid.

Ralph curses Merridew inside his head in one thousand possible ways, but then he doesn't have the opportunity to do it anymore, because his thoughts are swallowed up by the laughter and the whistles of more than one hundred students, and he desperately needs a coffin and a really, really deep hole in the ground to bury himself in and stay there for all eternity.

It's worse than he's imagined and he doesn't even hear them anymore at one point, since blood is about to burst out his eyes and ears. He can't even walk, he's like completely frozen, but burning in shame at the same time, and that's the moment when he thinks that the shame of being considered a coward for not accepting Merridew's bet would have been better. Any shame would have been better. He seriously considers strangling himself and his own bloody pride.

He's probably lost all respect by now. From the serious, studious, respectable boy, he's now probably seen as Merridew's little bitch, and he's sure that he won't ever get a date after this whole ordeal. If he's managed in getting some until now, then he has to say goodbye.

He actually sees some of the lasses that seriously respect and admire him now grinning and scrunching up their noses, as they watch him in plain derisiveness, but what's even worse is how he spots Piggy and Simon's faces among the crowd, mouths gaping open and sympathetic expressions, and he feels even more dragged down.

To top all of it, there's Merridew's mate called 'Mauritius' who actually comes at him and tries to _fucking flirt._ Like seriously flirt, trying to put up a charming smile and lean into him, making bad jokes and all those bullocks, and Ralph straight-punches him in the gut. 'Mauritius' doubles over, another wave of laughter shakes the whole ballroom, a few flashes blind him and he blinks trying to clear the spots of light that dance before his eyes. Of course it has to be Merridew and his bloody camera and Ralph almost goes and punches him in the gut as well. He considers snatching the camera from his hands and trampling all over it, but then a better idea comes to his mind.

He's just going to ignore everything. Or at least try to. Revel in the fact that he wears a dress and that it's nothing to be ashamed of. Pull this bet off with his chin up, since he accepted it because he wanted to prove he could do it in the first place. If it's one thing he's learned from his parents is that attitude is the key, which has helped him a lot, especially in his battle with anxiety.

It's easier said than done, but he slightly succeeds in this small, personal quest of his. He doesn't jump in the middle of the platform dance to show off, because he doesn't do that, not even when is wearing regular clothes, but he walks across the hall, finds his friends' table and plops himself into the chair next to Piggy.

Ralph senses him flinching in his own seat as he arranges his specs, and he tries to ignore the general embarrassment that his friends go through because of him. He's never personally tortured them in this marvelous manner and he wants to snort at how Simon tries to make decent conversation with him, thinking he's making Ralph feel better about this whole mess.

Frankly, nothing can make him feel better right now, except some rounds of punch and shots of whiskey, but he finds neither, because alcohol is majorly restricted in school, so he just has to stay in that chair and not move for the rest of the night. Laughter still beats around him like a continuous attack on his dignity, but he tries not to pay attention, despite the difficulty of it.

Fortunately, the twins manage to sneak some shots under the table and Ralph is more than grateful for their ambiguous morality at times, so he feels warmth bubbling in his stomach, flowing to his brain and veiling him in a nice, pleasant haze that melts a good part of his inhibitions. It's not enough though, because during this time, he constantly receives more than a dozen of comments regarding his outfit for the night; in various shades of mockery, starting with birds who ask him if he wants to join their girl-makeup sessions, to blokes who hit on him as a joke, to blokes who _genuinely_ hit on him, as in they actually want to take him for a dance and more, and Ralph sort of feels ill after two hours.

He excuses himself in a not-too-subtle manner, stumbles across a few halls and almost wants to fall on his knees, raise his hands up to the sky-or ceiling, in this case-and tear up as the light bulb brightens over his head. He just has to hide for the rest of the night. Sucks to what his parents have taught him about the whole attitude thing. All he hallucinates right now is an empty classroom, a place to shelter him. And no one will find him, unless Merridew decides to torment him more and look for him in the entire building. Waste like the whole goddamn ball just to search for Ralph and drag him back into the festivity hall so that he can gloat more about his misery.

Since the bugger is indeed capable of that, the janitor closet magically rises up in front of him like his ultimate salvation, so he once again wants to kiss the ground for the blessed opportunity. Hiding in a crammed space isn't his ideal of a party, but anything works when you're your most hated enemy's present subject of ridicule.

He sneaks through a bunch of old, chipped, wooden mops, steps over a rusty bucket that's empty, lucky him, and curls into a ball into the small room's darkest corner. Not that the space isn't dark to begin with, but the corner always feels safest for some reason. He exhales one lead-like breath, leans back against the line of the wall, and closes his eyes, listening to the stifled music that flows down the hall in a steady rhythm. And he finally feels at peace for the first time in that night; on one side.

On the other side, he's still bummed about the whole experience, and even more bummed about how he's hiding at the moment. He has to resign himself, because it feels like hell already, and the cherry on top of the cake would be Merridew finding him right now. He has a bad feeling regarding this, but he's still hoping the probability of Merridew realizing he's hiding in the janitor's closet is pretty low, so he tries to keep himself at peace for the moment.

In the most obvious manner, he's underestimating Merridew, as always. Because not even after five minutes of blissful almost-silence, the door is violently banged into the exterior wall, light falls over him in excruciating waves, and he squeezes his eyes to see the gargantuan, towering shadow of guess-who, blocking the door in a cheap imitation of the almighty savior of the world himself. Ralph usually laughs at Merridew's dramatic tendencies, but right now, all he wants is to throw one of those wooden mops at his head and leave him unconscious on the floor.

„What the fuck, blondie, you're not allowed to bail out on the punishment, just get your arse out there and go through it like we've set it in the first place!"

He then feels one of his ankles being caught in a rough, painful grip, and realizes Merridew actually attempts to drag him out of the small, jammed space by his leg; seriously tries to pull him out of there through all that tangle, without any regard for the fact that the stick of one of those mops might actually impale Ralph in the posterior.

So he struggles on his own part and manages to land an effective kick into Merridew's stomach or balls, Ralph is a little unsure. He just sees Merridew's face twisting in the most comical way, as he grabs at his lower regions and falls like a log inside the room, missing Ralph by a few inches. Ralph thanks the lord for being on his side at least this time, and closes the door before anyone else finds out he's celebrating the party there.

The previous silence is now perturbed by Merridew's constant moaning-Ralph has to check it first and make sure Merridew is actually moaning in pain, and not because he's jerking off right there, without Ralph actually realizing it. He believes Merridew to be capable of that as well, but thankfully, he is just in a state of delirium, and Ralph would love to find out he needs surgery to his balls.

As he checks on Merridew, he spots in the dark the camera hanging on to his neck. Ralph takes advantage of the situation and quickly snatches it from Merridew, finds the pics that he's taken of Ralph in the most embarrassing, scandalous moments of his life, and successfully deletes them.

It feels like a heavy weight's been taken off his chest once the deed is done, and when Merridew comes to his senses, Ralph almost foresees the volcano explosion. He almost sees the different shades of purple and red that color Merridew's face once he finds out Ralph's deleted all of his precious pictures, he almost sees how Merridew forces himself not to choke Ralph right then and there. There is a slight fear that pinches at him, but Ralph shakes it off, as he tells himself Merridew won't get out of this alive, if he attempts something too nasty on him.

"The pics weren't part of the bet, you git." He sharply points out, scrutinizing Merridew with an obvious glare. He is aware Merridew can't actually see his glare in the pitch black that surrounds them, but he knows he can feel it, so he intensifies it.

"Alright, and what bloody proof will I have that you've actually gone through it, huh?" The git resentfully growls, sounding as if he's been deprived of all of his rich boy privileges, and Ralph rolls his eyes.

"I believe the whole school population seeing me like this is enough proof, don't you?"

It's not enough to shut Merridew up obviously, or put a stop to his endeavors, hence he suddenly leans over Ralph and attempts to retrieve his camera, but Ralph's got another idea. It's like Merridew's wickedness and boldness have rubbed off on him in a way, because knowing Merridew will be capable of actually getting whatever object he pleases from Ralph without much of a struggle, given the stark contrast between their sizes and strengths, Ralph does something unexpected.

He shoves the camera under his dress, right into the band of his girly knickers. Merridew abruptly freezes above him and Ralph feels unease radiate from him, and he actually wants to snicker, if it's not for the fact that he's got the uncomfortable edge of a camera photo digging into his hipbone.

"You know that's not going to stop me, right?" Merridew's voice sounds strangled and it's a few octaves higher, and Ralph actually snorts this time.

"Well, it apparently did stop you, because you're not making any move anymore." He cleverly retorts and he is sure that this response will fire Merridew up and determine him to overcome whatever inhibitions have temporarily taken hold of him; but Ralph's wrong this time, because Merridew retreats even more into the darkness of the other side of the room, and he doesn't know anymore. He feels as if their usual roles of 'tormentor-victim' are temporarily reversed, like he is now part of an alternate universe.

"I knew you couldn't do it." Ralph teasingly insists, something that's not typical of him to do with Merridew. He does it more because he's kind of curious why something as childish as Ralph hiding Merridew's precious object into his underpants changes Merridew from the overconfident, unabashed bastard he is, into a reluctant, timorous nitwit.

Because he's imagined that Merridew would have no problem in shoving his hand into Ralph's undergarments to get what he wants, he's expected some fight of some sort, Merridew lifting up his skirt, digging his hand in there and quickly getting the camera. Eventually taking more pictures of Ralph, since that's his absolute purpose in life at the present moment. It's like he actually wants Merridew to do those things, because they are Merridew-like indeed. That's the Merridew he knows, not the strangely withdrawn guy that now sits across from him.

There's also the fact that Merridew doesn't sketch any gesture anymore. The darkness is an impediment to Ralph's view, so he can't see his expression either, but Ralph's got a very powerful feeling in his gut that Merridew is suspiciously scarlet.

"Seriously though, I thought you wouldn't have a problem with this sort of bullocks, given how shameless you always are. And we're both blokes, so what the hell is your issue here anyway, aye?" Ralph is aware that his own voice in turn sounds a little strangled by now, but he keeps talking, due to some sort of unknown, weird force that compels him to insist on this matter with Merridew. In all truth, he doesn't even know what he wants from Merridew after all; he's supposed to be glad that the tosser has given up on getting his camera back. But he isn't, because this version of Merridew weirds him out fifty times more than the regular one.

"You're wrong here, golden boy, I'm not actually intending to fight you right now because it will be even more humiliating to you, being in a dress and at the same time defeated by my superior strength. And I'm also twice your size, so it won't be too much of a satisfaction to me."

His voice sounds more level now, and Ralph can't distinguish if he's lying or not, especially when taking into account the true talent Merridew's got into the bluffing art, but his inner voice tells him it's a lie. Merridew's natural tendency to be obnoxious and boast about absolutely everything is present in his attitude indeed, but there's still something off.

"Um, first, you're not twice my size," He starts offended, "Being taller does not make you double the size of me, and it's not my fault you're like creepy gigantozoid who towers over ninety percent of this country's population." He crosses his arms, "I am the normal one here."

When it comes to him that Merridew won't react to the lightweight, joking conversation anymore, he sighs and searches through the dark with his foot, until he finds Merridew's calf, then presses the heel of his blue flat shoe – that of course was part of the set-into his bone, and Merridew exclaims in aggravation.

"What _the fuck_ are you even trying to do anyway?"

Truthfully, Ralph has absolutely no idea. He doesn't know what's gotten into him, maybe because he's probably bored, or maybe because the earlier drinks have somewhat gotten to his brain, maybe because he's really, really curious as to why Merridew is suddenly acting like this. He has a hunch regarding it, but he has to prove it first; his instincts guide his movement, which is why his foot softly starts rubbing up and down Merridew's calf on its own accord, and now he can truly say Merridew's frozen into a complete and utter state of guttural shock.

"You know, this is so cliché," Ralph starts, the grinding of his own calf against Merridew's sort of heating him up. He stretches and drags himself on the floor, trying to reach with his foot further, since Merridew's own leg seems infinite, and his foot touches Merridew's thigh, then his crotch, and he hears Merridew choking on his own spit for a second, as Ralph starts rubbing him there with his heel, pressing and twisting, but not enough to hurt. He knows he's out of his mind for acting like this, because under normal circumstances, he would never, ever do it, but the heat of the moment is so intense, almost burning, and it's like the whiskey in his brain talks and coordinates his movement, and the lack of females is too acute right now, for both of them, probably.

"If one of us had been a lass, we would have totally shagged by now…given the whole setting, you know," He utters, his heel rubbing harder, pressing harder, feeling the bulge that is starting to form in Merridew's pants, and he feels his own cock swelling, and a moan almost bubbles up in his chest, and he almost, _almost_ has the scandalous thought of Merridew pressing his dick against his own and-

"U-unless you're a shirt-lifter who has the hots for me...since you wanted me in a dress." He kids softly, and Merridew snatches his foot and shoves it aside with a rattling fury, and it kind of dispels the whole euphoric state that Ralph's been under for the last ten minutes.

"I'm not apparently the one who tries to give a _foot-job_ to a bloke right now," Merridew hisses through gritted teeth, and Ralph is sort of discouraged by his fiery aversion, and maybe, _maybe_ Ralph's been wrong about the whole thing. Maybe Merridew's been drunk and he's thought for a moment that Ralph was a girl because of the dress _,_ which is why some sort of decency backed him down when he had to get his camera back.

Maybe Ralph is totally misled, because he is the one who has to admit that he kind of wants something to happen, because he's had this curiosity before.

If he thinks better though, he doesn't recall Merridew having any particular queer tendencies, or at least, he hasn't shown it. But neither has Ralph. They've both had affairs with various lasses and Merridew is even known for a certain long-term – if two high school years can be called long-term- relationship with Kathryn Lessing, a brunette, pretty lass, a year younger than them. Ralph pretty much suspects their breakup's had to do with Merridew being a generally unbearable arsehole who is too controlling and self-obsessed for any relationship to ever work.

But then he thinks about Merridew's behavior around him. There have been a few, ambiguous instances when Merridew _almost_ seemed to be flirtatious around him- from the fact that he always challenges Ralph, always pesters and teases him, to moments when Merridew actually comments on his appearance in inappropriate ways, as in he actually, derisively tells Ralph he's pretty as a bird, and that his arse looks tight in his jeans. Well, jokes like these occasionally happen between blokes as well, especially friends, but he and Merridew are not friends. So it's not exactly usual custom for them to act like this towards each other.

Still, it doesn't explain why Merridew is suddenly so embarrassed by the situation, since he's such a bragging, self-assured loudmouth in ninety-percent of his life, but maybe that's all he is. Just a loudmouth. Maybe he hasn't got guts at all when it comes to these 'romance' things. Not that there's any romance about to happen between them. Really, the way his own brain handles the issue right now is just silly.

On the other side, Ralph's own pluck returns, in order to make Merridew react in this matter. Because he _has_ to make him react. He _has_ to know.

"So you don't like me, not even a little bit?" Ralph hurtfully mutters in a playful manner. He thinks about pressing his foot into Merridew's crotch once again, but then a better idea ensues. He lays himself on the floor, and he knows that it's dark and that it's impossible for Merridew to see everything, but he can still perceive Ralph's outline, and how he arches into the floor – well tries to, since he's literally encased by a bunch of mops that he has to avoid-and he knows he's insane by this point, and totally drunk as well, cause he lifts his own skirt and starts rubbing his own dick through his knickers, and whining, and lewdly moving up and down, and calling Merridew's first name _'Jack, oh, Jack!'_

Next thing he knows, he's covered by a desperate, angry Merridew who growls _'nobody messes with me this way'_ , and Ralph wants to laugh in his face, because it's his own turn to brag, because he's finally proved Merridew's got the fancy for him indeed. He doesn't even have the opportunity to do it though, cause Merridew abruptly shoves his tongue down his throat, and presses into him with urgency, and Ralph's brain short-circuits, since, oh, he's never, quite expected things to get this far so quickly. Then he melts into a puddle as he opens his mouth for Merridew, and his moans would be heard into the halls if they weren't swallowed by the tosser.

Merridew grabs his legs and places them on both sides of him, before he lifts Ralph's skirt even higher, and Ralph grips Merridew's waist with his thighs, and feverishly opens his legs wider like a sodding bird. Then he presses their crotches together and Ralph deliriously cries into his mouth as he feels the heat of his cock grinding into his own.

They're so encased by the whole thing, that they don't even notice the sound of a key sliding into the door, until the lock clicks loudly, before footsteps echo further down the hall, and that's when Ralph turns his head in the middle of the snogging session, leaving Merridew to kiss the side of his face. His breathing is heavy and his head is spinning, and he knows Merridew must be feeling the same, because he hovers dazedly above him for a good minute, before he is snapped back to reality by the realization.

"Did someone just lock us in here?" He rasps groggily, and Ralph's whole warmth is suddenly replaced by cold fear, and he lightly kicks into Merridew's side. Merridew gets it and backs away, leaving Ralph's slighter form to sneak in between the whole messy tangle of the room, and when Ralph checks on the door, the ground seems shake under him, and his breath gets stuck into his throat as panic grips him.

"We're bloody doomed." He states dramatically and Merridew groans loudly. "Or dead. Whichever you prefer."

Merridew has to see it for himself, the git, so he tries to sneak through the room's utensils in the same way as Ralph did, but obviously, he demolishes like half of the room in the process, probably destroying a big part of the school's property, since he's got the length of a six feet and three inches tree. Honestly, Ralph is even confused how in the hell he's even managed to fit inside that space in the first place, but doesn't ponder over it anymore, because Merridew is suddenly yelling Ralph's exact same words in his ear.

"We're bloody dead!"

Ralph rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time in that night as Merridew forces the door and starts banging on it like a goddamn animal-or beast, more appropriately- and Ralph is tentative about interrupting him at first, given that there is a great possibility of Merridew whooping him a good one across his face in the process. So he just yells on his own turn, trying to catch his attention,

"Just stop it, you sod, no one's gonna hear you anyway!"

He didn't think Merridew would actually listen to him, but then there he is, silent as a stone, his heavy breathing rolling off of him like he's just run thousands of miles at the marathon. Ralph notices that he is still facing the door in an unnerving stillness, apart from the heaving of his chest, and it reveals to him that Merridew is perhaps more afraid of the whole situation than Ralph himself is. Which is highly odd, because Merridew is very well known for his mindless, reckless courage and nerve that he's proven ever since he stepped through the doors of their high school.

So, since he's such a daring, brainless wanker most of the time, Ralph comes with just only one explanation for this.

"Merridew…are you actually claustrophobic?"

He sees how Merridew's shoulders tense and bingo. It's the right guess. Still, it doesn't make much sense yet, since Merridew hasn't had any problem with the closed space they've been in for the past hour.

"And this claustrophobia kicks in at certain hours or what?" He knows he is dripping with sarcasm and that he shouldn't be, especially since Merridew is on the brink of having another crisis right then and there, but inwardly, Ralph sort of gloats about Merridew's misery, because now he knows what it's like to be teased in some of the worst moments of one's life.

Still, Ralph is aware this might be a little bit dangerous, because it's a somewhat medical condition; he thinks it is, because he's heard of people who've actually had strokes or suffocated in these situations, and fear is now latching onto him as well.

"When I know I can't get out of the place…" Merridew's rough, strangled voice makes itself heard and a wave of pity hits Ralph. Which scandalizes him because Merridew doesn't deserve his pity. He doesn't deserve it because he's a cunning, heartless, evil bastard who's tormented and made fun of him for the majority of their lives, and Merridew wouldn't feel bad for him if the situation was reverse. In fact he would laugh, tease and mentally torture him, until Ralph would indeed suffer a heart attack and collapse right then and there. And even after, he would still probably laugh over his dead body.

Still, his virtue slash flaw interferes as always, a virtue that he's most surely taken from Simon, and that determines him to lay a hand on Merridew's upper arm and squeeze it tenderly. He whispers a few kind words, attempting to encourage him, and he doesn't see Merridew's expression, but Ralph can feel him looking down at him, his heavy breathing slightly subsiding.

They sit in comfortable silence for good moments, until Merridew's other hand covers the one that Ralph's resting on his shoulder, removes it from there, and takes it into his own, and Ralph senses heat engulfing his face, an unusual heat that makes him too conscious of what they've been doing and still doing, despite that he is the one who's initiated everything. But now he's considerably more sober, and this entire, new thing that's issued between him and Merridew is too sudden, too much for him to take in.

Which is why an unexplainable shyness overcomes him as Merridew wraps him in a tight embrace, and buries his face in the soft hair at the top of Ralph's head, muttering a gruff 'thanks'. He tenses for a moment, because, well, damn, this is probably the most unusual thing that's ever happened to him, even more unusual than them snogging. But what's more unusual is the fact that he can't help but lay his head on Merridew's shoulder as well, and now he seriously can't believe that they're actually cuddling. As in real cuddling, like a real couple, despite that they're both blokes who've just tried sucking each other's faces off for a few minutes in a poor attempt at bi-experimenting.

He knows he should push Merridew away, because this has gotten to far, too serious, but he can't bring himself to do it, because it feels too nice, it brings him a warmth that he's never felt with anyone before. He also can't do it because he realizes that this actually calms Merridew, it strays him away from the current state of torment that he's going through, it diminishes his phobia-induced angst, and this gives Ralph some sort of pride, knowing that he is the one who calms Merridew right now. Merridew, the fierce, volcanic sod who brings fire and chaos in his path, like Hades himself has incarnated in this lanky, gigantic arsehole. It's so dramatic, really.

Still, nothing has ever felt like this. He has some valid experience from a few birds that he's been shagging a while ago, but nothing has ever been this intense and he knows that, if Merridew makes another sentimental gesture like this, Ralph will on point melt into him.

The cuddling lasts for a while and he almost ends up on Merridew's lap, but he's more like splattered over him instead, and Merridew softly trails rough, but feather-like fingers over Ralph's back, and it's really, really great. Not that he would actually tell Merridew that, but Ralph doesn't think he has to, given that he's lying on him like he's made out of pudding. It's gotten so good, that he knows he'll regret the fact that they'll have to leave the place sooner or later.

Though it turns out he slightly regrets that he's been sucked into all of this in the first place, because Merridew gloriously returns with one of his insensitive, tasteless comments.

"You know what would make me feel even better?" He starts, and Ralph discerns a light, taunting edge in his tone, and he actually senses him smirking. "A shag."

And his heart is booming and sending the tsunami of red to his face, and he knows he's had his perverted moments earlier too, but he feels Merridew is way too 'himself', now that Ralph has provoked him and given him motives. He knows that was his purpose in the first place, to find out if Merridew's got the fancy for him, to bring him to his old self again, but he had to foresee that Merridew would act like this once Ralph would instigate him. Fury burns in him as he has a sharp feeling that the phobia scene has been all a farce, and it wouldn't be far-fetched, since Merridew is a master of deceit and lies in general.

"So you tricked me just to convince me for a shag?" Ralph frowns and attempts to stand up from his cosy Merridew-spot, but he feels Merridew's hand on the small of his back, brusquely trying to stop him.

"No, you fool, I actually do hate small, dark spaces." He grumbles back and Ralph considerably relaxes, somewhat sheepish that he's been so quick to judge the whole situation, even though he shouldn't be, given that Merridew is such an unpredictable prick all the time.

There's an awkwardness that rears itself between them now. Merridew doesn't say anything anymore because he's probably being somewhat repentant about his big mouth that ruins all the nice moments, but the gears in Ralph's brain still continuously turn, contemplating what Merridew's just proposed to him.

Truth is, he's had this thought before. The thought of letting Merridew do this to him. Still, he was so mortified by the intention every time it surfaced, that he quickly sent it away as a too sinful and dark thought. The original intention has been more like a vague curiosity regarding anal, queer sex. Since his tussles with Merridew got too intense at times, the ideas just simply connected. Him wanting to try it, plus Merridew being an intense, eccentric and overall bonkers lad that could've offered Ralph the possibility of satisfying this curiosity.

Because Merridew asked him to wear a dress, Ralph has been somewhat certain that Merridew was into him to an extent, so he knew he had to try it. He had to convince himself. And it seemed that what they've committed in that night did more than convince him.

So when he actually opens his mouth to bring it up, Merridew's own big mouth ruins the mood. Again.

"Well, looks like we're both brainless apes, because we've totally forgotten this room has a trap that leads to the school's air duct. Which means we can get the hell out of here right in this night."

Now it's his own turn to panic, as he stands up from Merridew's chest.

"You've got to be out of your mind, if you actually think I'll stuff myself in there, much less _with you_. "

"And yet you've had no problem with stuffing yourself with me in this tight space until now." Merridew sarcastically shoots back, and Ralph exhales out his nose, trying to calm the irritation that rakes at him.

"It's not _as tight_ in here." He hisses. "Plus, I thought you hated spaces that small, how are you going to handle it, huh? Cause I'm not dying buried under your unconscious body, up in there."

"I already told you, I hate it when I know I can't get out," Merridew retorts, before he lightly shoves Ralph's form aside and stands up, creating more ruckus in his way. "I'm sure we'll find an exit through that duct. And I'm not intending to stay all night in here, so come on."

It turns out the janitor closet has an impressive height compared to its narrowness, although Merridew's own height proves to be useful for the first time in like ever, so he manages to reach the trap just by raising his arm. There's a slight protest that surfaces in Ralph, since he is in no way letting Merridew go up in there first, because he is very much sure that he is still capable of leaving Ralph behind without a second thought. So he insists on Merridew helping him climb first, which he wholeheartedly does, surprising Ralph for the umpteenth time in that night; it ends up with Merridew groping him a little while at it, even though Ralph is somewhat unsure whether he's doing it on purpose or not, when taking into account Merridew's occasional obliviousness; all in all, Ralph still swats his hand away.

The idea was bad. Because in all the haste, he completely forgot that Merridew's face would be buried into his _fucking arse_ while crawling up in there, which explains why Merridew was so keen on letting him climb first. The air is too hot and the tight duct is beyond dirty, which adds to his growing fury. The fact that Merridew eventually, deliberately shoves his big nose into his knickers, under his dress, just as Ralph presumed he would, makes the bubbling wrath in him reach the boiling point, so he stretches his leg and kicks Merridew in the face, full-frontal. Merridew grabs at his nose and yells an entire string of some of the nastiest curses Ralph's ever and never heard before; the yells echo inside the duct, and Ralph fears for a second that the sounds might reach the school's halls.

"Serves you right for being a pervert," Ralph snaps at him from the front, and Merridew groans, probably frustrated about how hypocritical Ralph is now being.

"Look who's talking, sir 'touching-myself-through-my girly-knickers'," Merridew grouches back, and Ralph feels blood pumping through his face and he really, really starts regretting the fact that he's instigated this whole queer thing with the school's biggest agitator. If he wanted the queer experience, he should have simply asked one of the blokes who had wanted to dance with him. This has probably been his worst idea ever, and he is seriously pondering the possibility of his own insanity.

"I was really drunk, you bloody idiot," He reluctantly mutters, embarrassment washing over him, which determines him to speed up his pace, because he really needs to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. Merridew doesn't say anything anymore and Ralph feels him just as embarrassed, so they just continue their way in nervous silence, until Merridew tells him to stop, because he's just passed over another trap.

"Here." He opens it and, just as usual, the new room they've stumbled upon is enclosed in darkness. Merridew goes down first and Ralph waits for a verdict regarding the size of the room and the possibility of other exits from there. To his relief, Merridew doesn't return to the duct; instead he signals Ralph to follow him, before helping him get down from there, and they find themselves on a table, in the middle of the school's library. It's dark, but not as dark as it was in the janitor's closet, hence Ralph can perceive the lined up bookcases that crowd the place.

"At least there's more oxygen to breathe in here." Ralph comments, though he still has his doubts regarding their way out of there, because he's pretty sure the library is locked from the outside too.

It turns out he's right, but none of them has any intention to return to the duct, since the room is quite spacious and potentially fitting for sleeping for one night. So they turn on the lights and just wander around the large room for a while, listening to the vague music that still fills up the halls, outside the two wooden doors that they expect to be opened at first hour in the morning. Ralph reckons the janitors will return to clean the school the next day, so that's all he has to do for now. Hope and imagine they won't be locked in there until Monday morning, because that would be a very unfortunate situation indeed. Especially since he's trapped there with drama, almighty king of pricks himself, who is apparently a huge nerd as well, proven by how preoccupied he is with a certain shelf that he studies as if he's just discovered the Holy Grail.

"I'm quite in awe that our school's library has the entire J.R.R Tolkien collection," He starts too enthusiastically for Ralph's liking, and he already anticipates a headache-worthy squabble between him and Merridew at one in the morning, if the clock on the wall is to be trusted.

"I don't think you're in the position to _read_ anything right now, because it's my time of sleeping, so the lights are going to be off." He frowns when Merridew just snorts amused and gathers three massive volumes in his arms, completely dismissing what he's just said, in his endearingly contemptuous fashion. Even more, he actually has the audacity to occupy the only, appropriately comfy place in that room-the big armchair that is usually reserved for the library keeper-instead of taking one of the many chairs that are in fact for the people who actually go there to read.

"Didn't you hear me?" Ralph tightens his fists, trying to keep the little calm that's left to support him in this godforsaken moment of his life. He follows Merridew and prompts himself in front of him, trying to appear menacing. Instead, he just realizes that, to Merridew, he's basically a one head shorter, blonde bloke dressed in blue miniskirt, hands on hips and a not very convincing scowl on his face; which is very much pathetic and can't be further from the actual image of intimidation that he tries to pull off. That irritates him even more, because he's just remembered that his current outfit is Merridew's fault entirely and because Merridew is now vaguely smirking at him, as if he can see Ralph's mental struggle. He realizes that it's probably visible on his furiously contorted face anyway.

"There are plenty of other chairs in which you can sleep," Merridew smoothly replies, clearly unaffected by the whole thing, then proceeds to hide his face behind one of those six-hundred-page books. "I'm not tired yet and there's nothing much to do here apart from reading, so I won't sit around and watch the walls of this room in the dark, just because Your Majesty wants to sleep in this exact moment," He blatantly mocks him. Ralph is blinded by rage for a moment, considering the option of knocking the book out of Merridew's hands.

After he's helped Merridew in critical points of his life, Merridew just has to kick everything aside and let his massive, bloody unbearable ego disregard Ralph. He can at least let Ralph have the armchair in exchange for the lights on, but no, it's not a possibility to Merridew, because he has to have _everything_ , just as always.

It's so painfully typical of him to ignore the fact that there's another human being with needs around that it just makes Ralph give up on everything at that point and pummel him to the ground, but he knows that it won't change anything. Merridew is too far gone into the narcissistic toddlers' realm, so Ralph concludes that he's above petty reactions like punches and kicks, which would be Merridew-typical, but not Ralph-typical.

No, he just simply goes and switches the lights off, leaving the room in complete darkness, apart from the fade, white light of the lampposts, that creeps through the windows from outside. There's a disgruntled, loud 'oi' that bursts out of Merridew and Ralph feels better already, but he knows there is a physical fight in the astral plane reserved for them. He discerns Merridew in the dark, putting his book aside, probably intending to stand up and battle Ralph, fulfilling the purpose the planets have aligned for.

But then Merridew suddenly remains still, and Ralph already knows what's on his mind. He's figured it out pretty quickly, to his not-surprise.

"Do you actually believe you're tricking me that easily? Switching the lights off, so I can get up from here and you can claim my chair? You've apparently forgotten who you're dealing with, pretty boy. Nothing can deceive me." He gloats, and by now, Ralph starts feeling as if they've regressed into five year olds, though he still can't abstain himself from throwing the ball back.

" _Your_ chair?" His voice is a tad too piercing for his taste, but so is the scorching anger that grasps at his mind; his mind that barely holds back his instinct to shove his foot into Merridew's face for the second time. It's not like he always succeeds in his glorious battles with Merridew, but he has his advantage in the fact that he's the level-headed one of the two and calculates his moves, compared to Merridew, who is mostly impulsive. Merridew has the cunning to his side though, and the physical strength as well, so it's usually not so easy for Ralph to defeat him, but he manages it at times.

This time he feels so charged up by the sharp fury that's striking through him, it's as if he can actually beat the shit out of Merridew with his own bare hands.

"Since when is it _your_ chair?" He draws closer, fed up with anything that has to do with Merridew, but too consumed by his anger. He feels as if he boils inside, his fists clenching at his sides, but there's also a different warmth in his core, a warmth that spreads to his limbs and fingertips and all over his body. The slight tapping of his flat, girly shoes echoes in the spacious room, as he walks across it and stops in front of Merridew, whose panting rushes in tandem with his own, in anticipation and something else. Ralph's own breath is wild and nervous, and he hesitates a little in the dark before he finally gathers the courage to do it.

He puts his hands on Merridew's shoulders so he is pinned to the armchair and Merridew starts. "What are you-"

"Shut up," He says in this small, angry voice, and climbs up onto the armchair.

He hasn't thought it through much, because the position of hovering above Merridew's lap isn't exactly favorable to his legs. It isn't a very big armchair, and Ralph's knees are squished in either side of Merridew's thighs, crammed up against the cushions, the position hiking the skirt a little further up his legs. When he shifts forward, relaxing his arms so his elbows are on either side of Merridew's face, the skirt wiggles up past his thigh highs entirely, showing the tan skin of his thighs, light blue suspenders stretched taut over it.

It's like a scene that's been directly pulled out of badly written porn, but he doesn't analyse it anymore. He just swallows the knot in his throat, before he tentatively takes Merridew's hand and touches it to the back of his own leg, just above the knee, urging him to go on, because that's what he's bloody tried to do ever since the beginning of the night, ever since Merridew almost fell over him in the janitor closet. His nerve to convince Merridew to act on it came to him in various forms – first, the whiskey in his brain, now the anger that still flares up inside, but is thoroughly mixed with his rapidly growing arousal.

Merridew quickly complies and everything is going downhill from here. Or up, depending on the view. "God," He says, half a prayer, and Ralph wants to snort into his shoulder, because this is the moment when Merridew's religious side shows up, before fading just as quickly, leaving the devil in him to roam freely. His hand is caressing a little and Ralph feels him nervous as well, but then Merridew is suddenly moving it up the back of Ralph's thigh, over the stocking. Over the place where the stocking ends in a flourish of lace; over his bare skin. Over –

"Ah-" Ralph gasps and they are breathing on each other's mouths now, hot and ragged, Ralph's eyes fluttering and Merridew biting his lip on a sound and smoothing a large hand over the curve of Ralph's arse, warm through the silky knickers. His breath catches when Merridew squeezes, and the arch of his spine deepens, pressing himself harder against Merridew's palm. Merridew's other hand then springs up, and he cups Ralph's flesh under the hem of his skirt until he has all of his arse into his hands, and they try to be quiet, but it's close to impossible; plus, it's not like anyone would actually hear them, given that the area is deserted and that the school still booms with music.

So Ralph tips his head and catches Merridew's mouth with his own, and they both forget entirely about trying to be quiet.

Their first kiss in the closet was rushed and desperate and hungry. This one is slow, gradually becoming deeper, more intense, as if they're trying to savor the moment as long as possible, to melt into each other, to see into each other's thoughts. His mind is clearer now, which makes him highly aware of how different Merridew's mouth is from his own, his lips thin and rough, while Ralph's lips are fuller and softer, but then their physique is different from so many sides; Merridew is strongly-built, but still has traces of his early lankiness due to his sudden growth that's still probably going, to Ralph's demise, since his own ended a while ago. On the other side, Ralph is more well-defined, nicely built and a little bit sturdy, with rounder and more pronounced shapes due to his growth having been more gentle on him, which is why Merridew often comments on particular places of his body; well, his arse most of the time.

The blue in their eyes is different, Ralph's blue being an even, darker one like the sky or the ocean, while Merridew's blue is light, almost too cold and ruthless at times, too sharp and keen, an eerie contrast with his pallid, freckled skin, another great difference from Ralph's own smooth, tanned skin. Their facial features are distinct, with Merridew's face being longer, more angular, with high cheekbones and narrow eyes, while Ralph's face is rounder, with bigger eyes, much softer and welcoming.

All of these come to him in a rush and he kisses harder and deeper, he feels Merridew reciprocating, his tongue sliding alongside Ralph's, pushing into Ralph's open mouth, the intensity of their snogging turning hectic again. Merridew groans, swallows Ralph's answering sound and tugs at him, and Ralph doesn't resist, he just lets himself fall into Merridew's lap, trembling thighs grateful for the new position. And it's _infinitely_ better.

His backside is pressed to Merridew's dick through the cloth of Merridew's suit pants and the silk of Ralph's knickers, and he breathes out hard through his nose as Merridew rears his hips and hauls him down harder. Ralph breaks away, half-laughing and rubs his damp open mouth against Merridew's cheek.

"You're literally trying to shag me through clothes, aren't ya," He points out and he knows he sounds giggly, like a little boy misbehaving under the blankets after lights-out, which isn't far from what he actually is in this moment. Merridew smirks against Ralph's cheek in turn.

"Can take 'em off?" He offers, breathless. His tone is careful and so unlike Ralph's thought Merridew would be in these particular circumstances-not that he has thought much about how Merridew would be during sex before, no. He quickly retorts with a frantic yes that rubs his hair against Merridew's cheek, slightly sweat-damp at the ends. Ralph's fingers go for his pants before he has a chance to move, and then he is dragging them down, along with his underwear together, saying 'lift up', matter-of-fact like a sergeant-major.

Merridew lifts and they both hardly breathe, their hearts thundering fast against each other. The tangle of clothes goes down to Merridew's shins and then Ralph abandons them, moving back into his previous position. Then, after a long second, he lowers himself again, and it's all he can do not to yell into his ear, and Merridew seems to feel the same.

"Fucking Christ," Merridew's head snaps back against the back of the armchair, pelvis lifting. He is fervently rolling against Ralph, and Ralph is right there against him, the heft of his dick flush to Merridew's through a layer of damp silk, and he can't stop grinding into Merridew himself. He can feel his cock rubbing against the underside of his own cock and against his own balls trapped in the satin and his perineum behind. The satin is snatched by the head of Merridew's dick in places and he knows there'll be little wet kisses where he smears pre-come all over the fabric.

"Jack, hn, Jack," He manages, breathless, and he is rocking down too, working himself against Merridew just as hard as Merridew is going at him, his hands in his fiery hair and on his shoulders like he can't keep them still.

"I always wanted you so badly," Merridew mumbles hotly against his neck and Ralph whimpers loudly, "Ever since I saw you, you were so perfect that I didn't care you weren't a lass, because you were better than any lass I've ever laid my eyes on," Ralph shivers at his words, under Merridew's hand and his spread fingers that trail downward, hooking, just barely, under the leg of the white knickers with their lacy trim. "That's why I was so reluctant about doing something at first," He whispers, feeling the muscles in Ralph's thigh jump under his hand. "I was shocked that you were flirting back for the first time, actually giving me a chance, that I couldn't have a proper reaction. I also couldn't do it because I wanted you to be sober, not drunk while doing this with me."

Ralph can feel him barely holding back from rutting against him like a kid, and his own cock is now hard to the point of pain, because he craves that too much, he craves Merridew to spread Ralph's thighs and pull him down and fuck up into him; not against, but in, till Ralph is stuffed full of him. He's slightly frightened, but curious and excited at the same time, because this is entirely new territory, for both of them, probably. Merridew is still whispering and kissing into his neck, as he pushes his dick against Ralph's, and Ralph emits a throaty sound, before bringing Merridew's face to his and mashing their mouths in a sloppy kiss.

"Put'em in," And Merridew looks genuinely taken aback for one quick moment.

"Are you s-" He begins, but Ralph cuts him off. "Yeah, it's okay. I've done it before, with my own fingers."

Merridew's breath hitches at this sudden information and a small laugh gathers in Ralph's chest, quite pleased how he proves to be the unpredictable one this time, how he is the one who surprises him. In truth, he did it once, when searching for porn, but it was mere curiosity.

He kind of reached the saturation point regarding porn with lasses at that time, so he attempted the other kind; the more thrilling one. Putting his dick into someone was familiar already, which made the other possibility even more curious to him, and his fingers were alright, but he didn't manage reaching the feeling that he'd seen those blokes in the videos reach. It seemed he had to have some help, which was why the thought of letting another bloke do it to him occurred sooner or later.

"We'll need something," Merridew throatily says and Ralph nods in approval, before slowly finding Merridew's hand in the dark and bringing it to his own mouth, gathering his ring and middle finger inside and sucking on them with vigor. A low moan erupts from Merridew and he involuntarily pushes his cock into Ralph's knickers again, and Ralph quivers at feeling his dick twitch against his bum, eager, painfully hard and, honestly, proportional with his actual body size.

Merridew fingers his mouth a few more times, then pulls them out and lowers them, not even bothering to take Ralph's knickers off. He just simply drags the crotch aside with his other hand, before bringing his fingers there, all slicked up and shining with Ralph's saliva; traces them carefully over the little clench of muscle, and it's unyielding at first, despite past experience. But Ralph's core pulses excitedly, and he shoves back against his hand in encouragement.

One finger goes in and it's strange, but not unpleasant, just as he's remembered it would be; he wriggles a little on Merridew's finger and Merridew waits for him to get adjusted to it. Then he inserts the second one and Ralph feels some sort of heat engulfing him, spreading from the fingers that now reach further, rub slowly, and then, like a switch, touch something that simply sets him on fire.

Merridew starts opening him by making a scissor motion inside, and Ralph chokes and moans in both pain and something that's completely new and drives him over the edge. He begins rocking back and forth, because the sensation is incredible, better than any sex treat he's ever had. There are little keening sounds that he makes against Merridew's ear, and Merridew groans at his reactions and shoves his fingers as far as they can get, before pulling them out and repeating the movement, literally fucking him with his fingers.

It lasts for a little while, because Merridew's superficial impatience eventually returns, so he retreats his fingers to replace them with his cock that he quickly slicks with his own saliva. And it hurts like hell when the first inches push inside. But Ralph is still throbbing and Merridew fists Ralph's dick, while he stretches him out, slowly, but certainly, and the large cock that is ramming into him goes from uncomfortable to really, really good in a short time.

"Fuck, you're so tight-" Merridew grunts, breathless with disbelief, and it's too hot and too tight and Ralph's moans melt into quick, needy sounds, then into moans again, and he leans over and hides his face into Merridew's neck, too overwhelmed by the experience.

Hands skid up Ralph's backside under his dress, clutching at cheeks, and he trembles and going out of his goddamn mind, because Merridew's cock rubs against his good spot again. It takes his whole willpower not to scream when the spot is repeatedly prodded, as Merridew angles up and begins moving him up and down his dick, fucking him in earnest, like he's waited his whole life to do it, which he probably did.

"Harder harder ah," Ralph sputters and throws his head back, his throat now exposed, and he feels sharp teeth dragging restlessly, uncoordinatedly, against his skin, Merridew rumbling frenziedly into his neck, "Fucking _perfect_ ".

He keens and cries out loudly, too loudly, so Merridew silences him by grabbing the back of his neck and bringing their slack mouths together; licking Ralph's lips open and sucking on his tongue, slamming into him with force as Ralph works himself on his cock, in a perfect, furious duet.

It doesn't take them too long. When Merridew surges up and crams himself as far inside Ralph as is physically possible, his fingers painfully digging into Ralph's arse, he just explodes. The hot rush of climax arrows into his groin and makes him clench his arse around Merridew's cock, who comes as fast and violently as him, and fills him up, and Ralph pulses and spills in Merridew's hand, as they both groan, so loudly that it probably reaches the end of the continent.

Merridew humps him a few more times, still high on the orgasm, before he completely encases Ralph into his arms as Ralph falls on him, utterly exhausted, his skin now pink and almost glowing in the silvery light that intrudes the windows. He presses his face into Ralph's hair, lightly kissing the soft, pale bangs that fall on his forehead.

He doesn't know when his consciousness fades away, but it does, not long after Merridew lifts him to pull out, because he's basically waking up on the floor, probably a little over a couple of hours later, since it's still dark. There's a slight anxiousness that tugs at him because he believes they soon might be found there, but he feels a solid warmth against his back, and a hand covering his chest, so he instantly relaxes.

The solid form against his back is oddly tense though, for some reason, so Ralph turns his head befuddled.

"Jack?"

He realizes they are lying on Jack's suit jacket, and he can't see his face because their backs are facing the vaguely enlightened windows, but his posture is rigid.

"I think we have to get out of here before the janitors return in the morning." Jack utters in a strained voice and Ralph furrows his brow, anxiety crawling on his skin.

"Why? I mean, I really don't want to go back into the air duct because it's way too creepy, especially now since the party is apparently over and-"

He stops when Jack slightly stands up from his lying position.

"Let's just say we…left _traces_ on the armchair." He interrupts somewhat harshly, and Ralph's stomach drops, his mouth opening in shock. "So if we stay here, they're going to find us along with the sex-smelling chair and put two and two together. It wouldn't be that hard, not even for the most idiotic person alive." He speaks derisively, which sends angry sparks up Ralph's nerves.

Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful, and now he can actually say that he has reached the top of the wacky adventures mountain tonight. Unless they'll be discovered and then he will also have his own real life, horror story.

He grows upset with Jack to his displeasure, despite that he knows it's both their faults. Though he has to admit that he's mostly upset with Jack's sudden, severe tone.

"Well, didn't you at least try to wipe it out? I don't know, you're the ambitious one, you're supposed to think this through." Ralph pinches the bridge of his nose, then huffs and tries to stand up, but a hand grabs at the back of his skirt. He yelps when he's tugged back into Jack's chest and he struggles a little, but quickly yields into the touch.

"Don't be stupid, of course I tried to wipe it out, but the ripped part of your pretty, blue bow isn't exactly wiping material. And I have to stress out again on how it kind of has the _odor_."

"You ripped off a piece of my dress bow?" Ralph asks weirdly offended, and he believes there must be something wrong with him by now, especially because why the hell would he care about that piece of clothing; he should want to burn it, not be offended about being ripped apart. Did he get hit in the head? Probably.

"Don't worry, it's easier to get another bow. The problem would be if I ripped your actual dress or stockings off, because they're of too much value to me, since you're going to wear them more than once in the near future." There's some sort of twisted amusement in his voice and Ralph feels an intense burning spreading over his cheeks, and his dick is springing to life again. Jack seems to offer the same feedback because he rolls over him and slowly thrusts his pelvis into Ralph's, arousal seeping into them. He leans over and is about to claim his mouth, when Ralph turns his head at the revelation that they're ridiculously acting like dogs in heat.

"Let's just not thrash the entire room until we figure a way out of here." He quickly breathes and Jack nods.

"I know another way out. Your bow also has a pin that I can use to open the doors. Felt it when I grabbed your waist. So it still must be somewhere around here-" He carefully traces his palm over the back of Ralph's dress until he lets out a sound of triumph at the end of his search.

They easily open several doors on their way out, since the entire building has been barricaded when the ball ended, and Ralph can say at the end of the night –or morning- that it's been the most exciting and overall interesting experience in his entire seventeen years old life. Plus, there is the fact that he's apparently now hooked up with his unbearable rival, or even enemy in the true sense of the word. Which heightens the whole thing.

There's a frenzy that passes through the students once the discovery that someone broke into the school wanders around, because the doors are still left open on Monday morning. The reason is, the janitors haven't returned on Sunday–Ralph thanks all the heavens and the dress and Jack as well, for the pin that got them out of there in time, and he just has to believe that they won't be discovered as the two lads who _broke out_ , not in.

All in all, it wouldn't probably be that bad if people found out they just wanted to get out of there because they accidentally got locked in, but then there is the whole shagging side of the story. So he decides it's better if they just shut up about everything.

But Jack's big mouth has to brag, no great surprise, and his two prick mates find out soon enough about how 'Jack Merridew shagged the golden boy'. Ralph isn't too worried about the male version of Wednesday Addams, as in Roger the murderer. He's the evil equivalent of Simon, therefore he barely talks, so the information is moderately safe with him.

The biggest problem is 'Mauritius', big mouth no.2, but to his relief, Mauritius is just offended about how Ralph hasn't picked him for a shag.

"But I'm cuter than chief!" He exclaims one time on the halls, before shutting his mouth in like forever, after Jack whacks him a good one across the side of his head.

Piggy finds out a few months later from Simon, who's apparently known about it for a while; Ralph doesn't wonder where Simon knows this from, because Simon is a mystery. Ralph gave up at figuring his quirks out a long time ago.

They spot Ralph dragging the dress into the laundry store, after using it more than he can count on his fingers. He is scrunching up his nose in distaste at the state of the dress, when Piggy's voice intrudes the silence.

"Is that the dress that you had to wear as punishment at the ball?" He inquires, genuinely confused.

And well, the fact that Simon knows words like 'kink' and 'shag' is the true surprise in this whole novel. But what's even more surprising is that Piggy just shrugs and accepts the news of his and Jack's relationship like he's just been informed the weather is going to be rainy.

"That ain't no surprise to anyone," He states unaffected, before burying his nose into his thick stack of Physics papers.

The discovery that everyone already knew even before the whole ordeal that he and Jack had it bad for each other- except for him and Jack- is somewhat unsettling, but maybe that's a good thing. Maybe the fact that they're both oblivious douchebags at times is going to work wonders for their relationship.

Ralph knows it for sure this time. It's all up there, in the newly aligned planets.


End file.
